


when the storm is through

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Het, Rare Pair Big Bang, Romance, mentions of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"in the end I want to be standing at the beginning with you."</p>
<p>Or, after the end of the Carroll case, Mike and Debra go into Witness Protection. How does it affect their already changing relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the storm is through

**Author's Note:**

> For the rare_bb on LiveJournal.   
> Title comes from the song "At the Beginning" by Richard Marx and Donna Lewis

When Ryan and Claire head back to his place in Brooklyn, Mike heads back to the hospital, to the small, brightly lit room at the end of the corridor, the one that's heavily guarded by FBI agents and US marshals, the one where no-one gets in unless they are on a very, very short list. He flashes his ID - unnecessarily, as it turns out; they know him, and his name is at the top of the list - and walks inside, closes the door behind him. "It's just me," he says, just in case, and the woman lying in the bed turns her head towards him, a small smile lighting her features. 

"They told me you were here earlier," Debra tells him and he grins, crosses to the bed, pulls up a chair and sits down. 

It's easy to grin at her because compared to the last time he saw her, she's a sight for sore eyes. There is colour back in her cheeks; her voice, though still weak, is stronger. It's almost enough to make him forget about the woods and the coffin and her chest under his hands, her lips against his as he tried to breathe air back into her body. 

Almost. 

"Where else would I be?" he asks, even though there are a half dozen places he could have gone. This, however, was the only place he wanted to be, for some reasons that are professional and some others that are not so much. "After all, I did save your life..." He lets his voice trail off teasingly, but her eyes are serious when they find his. 

"Thank you," she says, extending her hand to him and he takes it, holds it in his own - it's an unusual move for both of them but one that feels right when they've shared what they've shared. 

"I would say any time, but..." Except he never wants to go through that again. She smiles at his words anyway, leans back against her pillows but she doesn't let go of his hand. 

"They're saying Joe is dead..."

He nods. "From what Ryan and Claire have told us, he was stabbed, twice. There was a fight, a fire and an explosion, and if by some miracle he managed to survive those, he would have been thrown into freezing cold water, in the dark. There's no way he survived." Closing her eyes, Debra lets out a long, shuddering breath. Mike leans forward, puts his free hand over their joined ones. "You're safe now... it's over," he tells her and she nods, swallowing hard. "Ryan and Claire are heading to his place..." Her lips quirk up in a smile and his own follow suit. "Yeah, I'm not looking too hard into that one either. Turner wants them in DC tomorrow for debriefing... me too." 

Her fingers jerk convulsively against his and her eyes fly open. The colour that he had been admiring drains from her cheeks and her eyes are wide, terrified. She tries to cover it up but her breathing is ragged and he stands, sits on the bed beside her, takes his courage into his hands and reaches out, touches her cheek. "Hey," he says gently, thumb running up and down her skin. "It's ok..."

She takes a deep breath as she squeezes her eyes shut and he knows from only the look on her face that she hates this, hates being in hospital, hates appearing vulnerable. "I just want to get out of here," she forces out, every word a struggle and he nods. 

"Hey, I'm taking you with me," he says and when she opens her eyes, a single tear escapes. "I'm not leaving you, Deb..."

Another tear makes its way down her cheek, hits his thumb and he brushes it away. "Every time I close my eyes..." she whispers and that's all she has to say. He knows that feeling, has had a few nightmares of his own lately. 

"It gets better, Deb," he tells her. "It will get better."

She opens her eyes slowly, brown eyes meeting blue and the look that he sees there breaks his heart. "I've spent twenty four years trying not to be afraid of the big bad wolf," she tells him, and oh, won't he be talking to her about that in another time and place. "Now I can't close my eyes without wanting to scream."

"Just... just give it time, ok?" It's all he can say to her. "Joe can't hurt you, his followers don't know about the book, about the plan, and any of them who did are dead." He's aware that that might not be strictly true, but it doesn't seem like the time to split hairs. "You've got your whole life ahead of you, Debra Parker... plenty of time, for anything you want."

He wipes the last of the tears from her eyes and she gives him the tiniest of smiles. "I was right... you're a good man, Mike."

He thinks about what he did in her name, to Alex, and it might change her opinion of him when she finds out but he doesn't regret a single thing he did, not when the result has her sitting up, talking to him, her skin warm against his palm. His thumb is still moving up and down her cheek and he doesn't know if she knows she's even doing it but she's leaning in to his touch, eyes still locked on his. His heart quickens and he leans in towards her, closing the distance between his lips and hers. 

He's expecting her to pull back, to do something to stop him but she doesn't. Instead, she kisses him back, lips warm against his, curling up in the same smile he saw at the Havenport Sheriff's office and he can't believe that was only a couple of days ago - it seems like a lifetime has passed. His hand slides from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, his other hand bracing himself on the bed. Her hands find his chest, make fists of his shirt and there's a tiny whimper from the back of her throat that brings him back to his senses. 

He pulls back and her pupils are wide, dilated, her breathing rapid and he clears his throat before he even thinks about speaking. Even then, it's not very articulate. "I... I shouldn't have..."

"Yes." She cuts him off and her voice is the strongest it's been all day. "Yes, you should."

She blushes then and he grins, leans forward and kisses her again. "I should," he agrees and her laugh is like music. "We're going to be ok, Deb," he promises her. "We both are." 

*

For the rest of the evening they talk and they don't talk. A nurse brings Debra food, which is vile and when the agents outside bring Mike some take-out, he makes sure there's enough for her too. He stays there until his eyes grow heavy, his head begins to droop and she tells him he should go back to the motel. "When was the last time you slept?" she asks and it's not a question he can answer - he can't actually remember. 

Still though, he doesn't want to leave, can't get out of his head what happened to her the last time he let her out of his sight. "I thought I'd stay here," he says, patting the chair, lying through his teeth to add, "It's very comfortable."

Debra lifts one eyebrow but she's smiling, doesn't even put up token resistance. "If you change your mind..." she begins and he shakes his head, cuts her off. 

"I won't."

A nurse offers to give her something to help her sleep but she refuses, says she'd rather try to sleep herself. He soon drops off, is very aware of the fact that she is looking at him the whole time. He drifts in and out of consciousness, and he thinks she does too, a restless sleep that doesn't surprise him. 

They sleep like that until the door flies open and Turner strides in like the wrath of God, his dark skin ashy grey. He visibly relaxes when he sees them both there, and Mike is on his feet, Debra sitting upright in seconds. It turns out that that's too quick a movement for someone who's been through what she's been through and she makes a horrible sound, slumping back dizzily against the pillows. Mike moves quickly to her side as Turner goes to find a nurse and by the time a visibly embarrassed Debra has convinced everybody she's ok, Mike is sitting on the bed at her side with one arm around her shoulders. The nurse closes the door behind her and Turner turns to look at them and Mike tightens his grip, doesn't move from her side. If anyone asks, he'll say it's for her benefit; he knows that it's not, not entirely. 

Turner, never one for beating around the bush, gets straight to the point. "Ryan Hardy and Claire Matthews were attacked last night," he tells them. Mike sucks in a deep breath; Debra closes her eyes and leans her head back. "Someone - we don't know who - killed the agents on the door, got into his apartment and stabbed them both. Ryan's in surgery at the moment but it doesn't look good."

There's a long, terrible pause. 

"Claire's dead."

It's Debra who speaks and Turner nods slowly. "She bled out before we found them."

"He watched her die. Damn it." Debra once again speaks the awful truth before tears creep up and choke her voice. She buries her head in Mike's shoulder and he feels her body shake as she tries to keep herself together. He works hard to swallow back his own tears, meets Turner's eyes and has the dubious satisfaction of seeing an expression of surprise cross the older man's face as he watches them, realises things have changed since the last time he saw them. 

"We're taking you both into protective custody," Turner tells them when Debra turns her head in his direction. "Obviously, we knew we didn't have all of Joe's people, and there's no way of knowing if this was part of a plan or if more people will be coming..."

Mike shakes his head, Ryan's words from the forest coming back to him. "We're dead... in Joe's book, we're dead. Alex shot me in the woods... and Debra.."

Debra's fingers tighten on his arm and he doesn't finish that thought, still scared by how close it was to being true. "And that's all the more reason to get you out of sight," Turner tells him. "If Joe has people who want to try again..."

Mike can't argue with that. Well, for himself, he might have, but not with Debra's safety on the line too. "So, where and when?" he asks and Turner's lips twist. 

"Mike, we're moving you now. Debra, when the hospital discharges you, we'll move you then."

Debra stiffens in Mike's arms and before she can say anything, Mike is shaking his head. "You're moving us together," he says. Despite the fact that he and Debra shared their first kiss only a matter of hours ago, he knows he's not letting her go again, not when they came so close to not having a first kiss at all. 

Turner purses his lips, shakes his head. "You're a bigger target that way-" he begins but Mike won't let him finish. 

"We know that. But honestly, after everything? We'll take our chances."

Debra doesn't say anything but she does look down at the bedclothes and her silence is answer enough. The noise that Turner makes would be hilarious if it weren't so serious and he shakes his head when he says, "Fine. I'll make the arrangements."

Then they are alone again and Mike turns his head, presses a kiss to Debra's forehead. Her eyes flutter shut, her lips turning up in the tiniest of smiles. "You know," he says, because he feels like he has to give her an out, just in case, "If I was out of line... we can get Turner back, you don't have to..."

"No." Debra's voice is quiet but determined. "I want to... I don't want to leave you." Her cheeks flush red when she says that and she drops her gaze, a sure sign that she's not comfortable with what she's just said. But that's ok, Mike thinks. He can live with that. 

But he doesn't think he wants to try living without her. 

*

They get word later on that day that the doctors will let Debra leave the hospital and Turner sends some poor junior agent over with their go-bags so that they can get changed. Mike can't remember the last time he had a clean shirt, while Debra has said that the clothes she was wearing when they brought her in, which are neatly bagged and in a hospital closet, can be burned. She doesn't ever want to wear them again and Mike can't blame her. 

He goes down the hall to the men's room to change, splashes some water on his face and brushes his teeth while he's there. When he arrives back at her room, he knocks on the door, opening it just a crack before calling, "OK?"

"Come on in," he hears her say and he smiles when he sees her sitting up in bed, brushing out her hair. From the sound of brush hitting tangles, as well as the look on her face, it's not an easy job and she battles with it for a few minutes more before he hears her mutter something that sounds suspiciously like, "Screw it," and she ties it up in a loose knot at the back of her neck. 

They are escorted down several flights of stairs, around more corners than he can count before they exit a door that he thinks is at the far end of the hospital - though they've walked so far it might actually be another building entirely and Debra, who Mike knows is not anywhere near full strength, though she'd never admit it, is pale and breathing hard when they sit in the back of the SUV. She closes her eyes after fastening her seatbelt and he reaches out, touches the back of her hand with his fingers. He sees her lips move but it looks like she's too tired to even smile. 

He frowns, because he doesn't like that, resolves to make sure she takes care of herself. 

He's not looking at the clock but they drive for a long time, over country roads and motorways, through small and larger towns. Mike's familiar with the procedure from three years in the Protective Custody Unit, so he's not surprised when they pull into a nondescript roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. He knows there'll be a team already there, that surveillance will be in place, that a whole bank of rooms will be set aside just for them, and he only hopes that it will be enough. Debra had fallen asleep not long after they left the hospital but she wakes up when the car stops moving, eyes opening wide with a little gasp for good measure. Her head whips around to look at him and he smiles, reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. "We're here," he says, and one of the marshals opens the door and helps her out. 

The motel is just what Mike thought it would be, quite like the motel they stayed in near the prison actually, and he tries to shakes off the chill that runs up the back of his neck when he walks through the corridors. That was then, this is now, and being paranoid isn't going to help anything. When the agents show them into the room though, he has something else to think about, because there in the middle of the room is a double bed and in all the fast moving they've done to get here, he hadn't considered that. 

The marshal closes the door behind them and then it's just him and Debra, bags in hand, staring at the bed. Mike looks at Debra, sees she's looking at him and that her cheeks are pink. Dropping his bag to the floor, he points to the door in the opposite corner of the room, the one that's ajar and leading to the bathroom. "Why don't you take a shower?" he suggests and the look of relief on her face is priceless. Placing her bag on the bed, she pulls clothes and a wash-bag from it, goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind her. When he hears the shower switch on, he sits down on the bed, pulls off his boots and swings his legs up, making himself comfortable. Turning on the television, he flips through the channels, stopping when he finds a rerun of _Happy Days_ which turns out to be part of a marathon and when Debra comes back out, he's lost in childhood memories. 

"All yours," he hears Debra say and he looks away from the Fonz and company to look up at her. She's dressed for comfort, has changed into a pair of pyjama pants and a tank top, and her hair is loose, curling damply around her shoulders and down her back. She looks more relaxed than he's seen her in days, and she drops down on the bed beside him, one leg tucked up underneath her. "What is this?" she asks and he looks at her, amazed. 

"Seriously? _Happy Days_? The Fonz? Richie Cunningham?" She's looking at him blankly and he fills her in on the finer points of the show, telling her that his mom used to love this show when he was a kid. "We used to hide the remote when we knew it was coming on," he finishes and even though he's smiling, there's an ache there too. He'd talked to his mom the day he was released from the hospital, had promised her that he'd be home for a visit as soon as the Carroll case was wrapped up. He knows she'll understand - protective custody and all that - but he also knows she worries about his job anyway, knows him being in the hospital had scared her badly. 

"You're close to her... your mom." It's a statement, not a question and Debra's eyes are narrowed as she looks at him. 

He shrugs. "I'm the youngest," he says. "It's possible I may have been a little spoiled." More than a little, according to at least two of his brothers and Debra grins, stretches her legs out in front of her, copying his pose. "She worries," he adds, looks down, turns the remote around in his hands. He pushes the thought away, looks over at her. "You're not close... your family."

"No." Debra shakes her head, and he's seen that look on her face before, in a mobile command unit in Dutchess County, after she'd been talking to Emma Hill. "It's been almost ten years since I've seen my parents..." She stops talking, looks up at the ceiling as if she's searching for the right words. 

"You don't have to tell me anything," he says and she looks at him then, gives him that sad little smile that he's becoming familiar with. 

"I want to," she says quietly. "I had a lot of time to think... there." A shudder runs the length of her body. "I don't want to be alone any more... but it's hard to talk about some of that stuff." 

She's forcing the words past her lips and he can see the toll it's taking on her. "We've got time," he tells her. "And whenever you're ready to talk... I'll be here."

Looking over at the television screen, she watches the show for a minute. "I don't own a TV," she tells him. "We never had one when I was growing up... and when I was older... I guess I just never got into the habit."

Mike tilts his head, gazes at her with exaggerated curiosity. "I've heard about people like you," he says slowly, deliberately, widening his eyes to what he hopes is comical effect. "I just never actually met one before." She laughs, swats at him with one hand and he grins at her. "The good news? Is we've got plenty of time to remedy that defect in your education," he tells her and she smiles, plumps up her pillows and makes herself comfortable. 

"Sounds good."

They chat idly as they look at the episodes, mostly Mike remembering previous viewings and he ends up talking a lot about his childhood. Debra's an attentive listener, every so often chiming in with a story of her own but she's guarded, careful. Mike's ok with that, has had time over the last couple of days - longer, if he's honest - to know that while whatever they have isn't going to be easy, it will be worth it. 

A doctor arrives, checks Debra over and Mike listens carefully to their conversation, turns away and looks out the window when Debra is actually being examined. The agents bring pizza for dinner and they eat it sitting cross legged on the bed, mostly in silence - the agents also tell them that Ryan made it through surgery but it's still touch and go. 

Later, when night is drawing in, it's his turn for a shower and when he comes back out, in boxers and a t-shirt, ready for bed, she is already underneath the covers. He stands by the bed for a moment, suddenly unsure and she lifts her head with a smile. "Come to bed," she tells him and he grins, does as he's told.

"Still ordering me around," he observes and she chuckles. He makes himself comfortable, lies on his back and she rolls onto her side so she can see him. "It's just weird," he says after a moment. "I mean... it's like we're living together and we haven't even had our first date yet."

Debra lifts one eyebrow. "You mean pizza in a motel room isn't your idea of romance? I'm glad to hear it."

It takes a second for him to realise that she's teasing him; when he does, he grins. "My standards are a little higher," he tells her. "I'll prove it to you one of these days."

Debra is quiet for a moment, fingers picking at a loose thread at the edge of his pillowcase. "I'm not good at that," she says eventually, and he must give her a questioning look because she elaborates with, "Romance. Relationships. Trusting men. Take your pick."

She looks back down again when she speaks, keeps her head down and Mike is getting good at reading her, thinks he knows how best to respond. "Well, luckily for you," he says, keeping his voice as light as possible, "I happen to be great at romance. Relationships, not so much, but that's mostly because of the job... somehow, I don't see that being an issue here." Her lips are turning up as she looks up at him through her lashes and it takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to kiss her right then and there. "And as for trust... Deb, if we can't trust each other, after the last couple of months?" He shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head because, really, what else is there to say?

"I do trust you." Almost as proof, she reaches out, places her hand over his heart. He can feel her warm skin through the material and hopes she doesn't feel how his heart actually quickens at his touch. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

He nods, puts his hand over hers. "Well... that's a good start." He lifts his other arm then, raises an eyebrow in invitation and she hesitates before she scoots closer to him, lays her head on his chest. He winces a little, because he's still a mass of bruises there but when she goes to move, he merely tightens his grip, keeps her close. 

The discomfort will fade and he likes the feel of her in his arms. 

*

They sleep until just past three in the morning, which is when Debra wakes Mike because she is thrashing restlessly. It looks as if she's fighting with someone and he's trying to figure out the best way of waking her when she renders the decision moot by letting out a truly bloodcurdling scream and sitting bolt upright in bed. Of course, that brings the agents outside running, and trained with protection detail as they are, they burst through the door, hitting the lights, guns drawn, shouting orders and Mike's torn between explaining to them and calming Debra. Only for a moment though, because Debra's his first priority and he pulls her into his arms, says one word, "Nightmare," to the first guy through the door. He gets a nod and a wave of what looks like apology before the agents back out, closing the door behind them and he holds Debra until she stops trembling. 

When they're ready to try sleeping again, he leaves one bedside light on, but sleep is slow to come for both of them. 

Eventually, they fall asleep and are awoken the next morning by a knock at the door, a call of "Breakfast!" It's nothing to get too excited about, cereal and take-out coffee but it gives them an excuse to avoid talking to one another about the previous night. Debra goes into the bathroom to dress and Mike changes quickly while she's in there. When she comes out, he's once more stretched out on the bed, remote in hand. 

She drops down beside him, fingers tangling in the covers and stares at the television for a few moments. "I gotta say," she says suddenly, "The whole sitting around, doing nothing thing? Starting to get old."

They've had less than twenty four hours of it but Mike can't disagree. "I guess after the last few months, it's gonna be hard to adjust," he begins but stops when he sees the look on her face. "Oh please don't tell me you're one of those people who timetables their vacations." She opens her mouth but instantly closes it again, her cheeks pink and Mike throws his head back and laughs. 

"I like routine," she tells him, pink cheeked and smiling and he shakes his head. 

"You've never played hooky from work? Or school?" Dark curls swaying from side to side indicate a negative and he raises an eyebrow. "Ever?"

She shrugs. "Too much of a straight arrow I guess." There's a hint of seething serious in her eyes and he sits up properly, pulls himself level with her. 

"Well then," he says, reaching up with one hand, tucking her hair back behind her ear, "Allow me to teach you the error of your ways."

He brings his lips to hers slowly, just in case things have changed and she doesn't want this any more. He waits for her to pull back, move, but she stays just as she is, barely breathing, and his lips touch hers, softly at first, then with growing pressure. She kisses him back the same way, tentative, almost scared and he takes his time, small slow kisses until he feels some of the tension leaving her body. 

He tilts his head then, slides his hand around to the back of her head, letting it tangle in her curls. Lets his tongue dart across her lips, teasingly, because somehow he knows, without knowing why, that if he goes too far, too fast, she'll bolt. There's the tiniest breath of a whimper from the back of her throat that tests his resolve and then her arms are winding around his neck, her mouth opening to his and it is everything he could have wished for and more. 

Lowering her to the bed, his hand moves from the back of her head to her shoulder, his other hand going to her hip. Her shirt has ridden up, exposing a tantalising inch of flesh to his fingers and he rests his hand there, doesn't move it, much as he wants to. He concentrates on her lips, on kissing her, on making her breath come faster, and hitch in funny little patterns and Jesus, those whimpers are going to be the death of him. 

Or maybe not. Maybe the death of him will be the way she presses herself against him, the way the fingers of one hand play with the ends of his hair, trace patterns on the nape of his neck. Her other hand slides down his back, and when he feels the warm skin of her palm under his shirt, he can't help his reaction - he deepens the kiss, nipping at her lip and pulling her closer against him. 

Her gasp, which he hopes is arousal but sounds a bit too shocked for just that, drags him back to reality and he breaks the kiss, rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling for a moment before looking over at her. 

The looking over at her proves to be a mistake because seriously? He's always thought Debra was a knock-out, from day one and under harsh prison lighting. Seeing her like this? Hair mussed, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, breathing hard, because of him?

She might just be the sexiest thing he's ever seen in his life. 

He's ready to pull her close again but she beats him to it, reaches out a hand - a trembling one, he notes - and gently touches his side. "You ok?" she asks and he covers her hand with his own. 

"All good here," he tells her. "Just not so sure our first time should be about relieving boredom."

"You really are a romantic, aren't you?" Debra's smile is as tender as her hand touching his face, as her lips against his. 

"You're worth it," he tells her in between those same kisses and feeling her lips turning up in a smile underneath his will never get old. 

This time she's braver, her fingers tracing a path over his cheeks, down his neck and around, up through his hair. He works his way down her neck, kissing and nipping in turn and her nails rake his skin as she shivers in response. His palms push both sides of her shirt up, find the warm skin of her back, and he moves up and down carefully, never too far up or too far down. She's reaching in between them, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt and he close his eyes as she kisses each patch of exposed skin...

Then there's a knock on the door and Turner's voice booms out. "It's me."

They jump apart like startled rabbits and Debra flushes crimson, sits up on the bed and immediately starts to smooth down her hair. For his part, Mike quickly does up his shirt buttons, helps Debra straighten her shirt and then he stands, crosses to the door. One glance back over his shoulder at Debra tells him that Turner's going to know exactly what he interrupted - Debra looks exactly like what they were just doing and there's no way he's doesn't too. 

Sure enough, when Turner walks in, he looks from Mike to Debra to the rumpled bed covers and he purses his lips like he's seen something he doesn't like. Any other time or place, Mike thinks he'd be amused by the look on Turner's face but the fact that the marshal is there at all can't be good. Debra stands when he enters the room, crosses her arms over her chest. "Ryan?" she asks and Turner actually looks sympathetic. 

"He woke, briefly. Said one word, 'Molly'." He pauses and Mike steels himself. "He went into cardiac arrest." Debra's hand covers her mouth, Mike leans heavily against the dresser. "They got him back... but he's in a medically induced coma."

He gives them a few moments to let that sink in. Debra is the first to recover. "So who's Molly?"

"We talked to Ryan's sister, she's with him at the hospital." Turner sees Mike's head snap up, tells him, "We have agents on her at all times, she'll be safe. Besides she says she's not leaving his side... I guess bull-headedness really can run in families. According to her, Molly was the first serious girlfriend Ryan had after Claire... and the last. She was his neighbour, they stayed friendly..."

Mike feels cold all over. "Are you telling me..."

"Her apartment is empty. And when the tech boys finally cracked the encryption on Charlie Mead's computers, they found the original undoctored video logs of Joe's visitors. Molly was on there."

"So Joe put her there to spy for him?" Mike can't believe there's yet another twisted layer to Joe's plans but Turner has one more in store for him. 

"Joe's followers did a pretty good job of trashing the Havenport mansion," he says. "But we recovered enough of a USB stick that we could retrieve the files... detailed accounts of Ryan's movements... videos of him, of him and Molly being... intimate." 

The look on Turner's face is the one he'd used when he'd walked into this room first, magnified by a thousand and Mike would be laughing if he wasn't so sickened. Debra sits heavily on the bed, drops as if her knees can't hold her up any more and her face is agonised when she looks up at Turner. "How deep does this go?" she whispers in horror and all Turner can do is shake his head. 

"We have stills of Joe's visitors... all of them this time," he says. "By the way, Mike, Mitchell says to hurry back, she can't cope with all this on her own." Mike smiles, can hear Deidre saying the words and they bring a faint smile to Debra's lips too. "We'd like you to come next door... look at them. See if there's anyone you recognise... from anywhere."

Debra is already standing and Mike touches her back briefly as she walks past him. She reaches out, squeezes his fingers briefly and Turner, taking no chances, opens the door, checks left and right, lets the agent outside lead them down the hall while he follows behind. 

They stay there for most of the day, reviewing the stills. They recognise a few, mostly people they already had captured or, in Mike's case, one man who had been outside the Godwinn Inn the day the day Louise and Charlie had taken him. But the vast majority are strangers, people who looked as if they could just blend right in anywhere. 

Debra's face grows ever paler as the hours tick by and when she orders a sandwich for lunch but doesn't eat it, Mike holds his tongue. When she refuses any of that evening's pizza though, he puts his foot down, promising her he'll make a scene about it if she doesn't. What sort of scene, he has no idea but the threat is enough to have her glancing around at Turner and the other men before she reaches for a slice. 

She ends up eating two but that is the only victory Mike has that day. They return to their room exhausted and Debra sits on the edge of the bed, runs her fingers through her hair. "She was his neighbour for four years," she says, shaking her head and Mike sits beside her, lays a careful knee on her hand.

"It's unbelievable," is all he can say, and she looks at him, eyes dark and troubled. 

"If I didn't have trust issues before.." she murmurs and he knows what he means; he's got the feeling that every new person he meets for a long time, he'll be checking them off against the pictures he's just seen. He wonders if Turner would give him a copy of them; if not, he's sure Mitchell would. He's so busy thinking of that that he almost misses Debra's next words. 

"I can't believe I complained about being bored," she says and he grins, puts his arm around her shoulders. He pulls her against him and she goes willingly, the top of her head resting against his cheek and he turns his head, presses a kiss to her forehead. 

"Yeah, you should try not to do that again," he decides. Lifting her head up so she can look at him, she touches his cheek, reaches up to trace the now faint red line over his eye. 

"Just so we're clear," she says quietly, concentrating on the scar, rather than looking in his eyes. "I liked playing hooky with you."

He can't help the satisfied smile that spreads across his face. "I noticed." He brushes a kiss across her lips, teasing, testing. She responds, her hand going around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lowers her to the mattress and starts making up for lost time. 

He doesn't know how much later it is when he pulls back from her, but he knows they're both breathing hard, that their legs are tangled together, clothing pulled askew and partly open. His hand rests on the small of her back, the other is tangled in her hair and he's partly on top of her as she looks up at him, a question in her eyes. 

"I want it to be better for us," he tells her, because he knows she deserves more than some crappy motel room with agents outside the door. "Special."

Her face is a perfect mixture of frustration and relief and on the first score, he empathises with her completely. "You're very sweet," she tells him and he grimaces at the word, one too many high school memories threatening to emerge. Maybe she understands because she pulls him back, kisses the grimace away before pulling back and going into the bathroom. 

By the time she emerges in the same tank top and pyjama pant ensemble as last night, Mike has already changed for bed. He has to pass by her on the way to the bathroom and he can't resist pulling her close, pulling her in for another kiss. He's the one who gets a surprise though, because when he runs his hands down her back, it's obvious to him she's not wearing a bra, which is definitely a departure from last night. From the way her lips curl underneath his, she's anticipated his reaction, is even enjoying it and when he breaks away from her, it's with a barely suppressed groan.

Her eyes dance when she smiles at him and he closes the bathroom door behind him and debates the merits of a very cold shower.

*

That night, they once again sleep until around three in the morning, and once again, Debra wakes them both with a nightmare. This time, there are no screams, she just lets out a horrible groan and sits bolt upright in bed. When Mike switches on the light, she is staring straight ahead, eyes wide and full of something that isn't there and he gently places his palm on her back, more than a afraid that he will scare her further. He can feel her heart pounding underneath his touch, feel a tremor along her shoulders. 

Tentatively, he moves his hand in a wide circle, hoping it will soothe her, chase away whatever monsters are running through her dreams. After eleven circles - and yes, he counted - and she draws in a deep, shuddering breath, turns her heads to face him. "Sorry," she says shakily and his hand moves from her back to her shoulder, squeezes gently. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?" If his touch is gentle, his voice is fierce and he stands, goes to the bathroom and brings her back a glass of water. She's able to muster a faint smile as she accepts it, takes a couple of sips before she places it on the bedside table. 

Lying down, she turns on her side, facing him, hands joined and underneath her ear. For an instant, he's reminded of the woods and coffin and the position of her hands when he and Ryan found her and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I was back in the woods," she tells him quietly. "With them... the nails, the earth falling down..."

"Same as last night?"

It's not hard to guess and her whispered yes is barely audible even in the quiet of the room. 

"I'm sure the Bureau will be able to get someone you can talk to..." he begins, expecting her to bristle, take umbrage at the very idea. He's not expecting her to chuckle. 

"Oh, I'm sure my therapist is waiting by the phone," she says and he blinks, taken aback by both what she's said and the matter of fact way in which she said it. 

He mustn't show his surprise though and to cover it he pushes the strap of her tank top, which had slipped down, back up again, lets his hand linger on her skin. "You can talk to me, Deb," he tells her quietly. "Just... about anything."

Her smile this time is sad. "I know," she tells him. "That's what I'm afraid of."

He tilts his head. "Deb... I was falling for you way before the woods. Anything you say... it's not going to change that."

She bites her lip and looks like she's near tears. Opening her mouth, he's ready for her to say something, anything, but then she just bites her lip again and moves closer to him, pressing her body flush against his, burying her head in chest. 

Sighing, he wraps his arms around her and in the absence of anything else, repeats his promise. "It's not going to change anything."

She holds him tighter and that's how they fall asleep. 

When he wakes, he's momentarily startled to feel the absence of her body beside his and his eyes fly open, glance to her side of the bed. He wonders when did he start to think of it that way, but then he's distracted because she is there, sitting up beside him, thoroughly engrossed in what she is doing. On her knee rests the notepad from the desk in the room, in her hand is the pencil that had been beside it. "Hey," he hears himself saying and she jumps slightly, cheeks flushing red. "Whatcha doing?"

"Just doodling," she says, shifting slightly and he props himself up, leans in to get a better look. What he sees there makes him blink. 

"Deb," he says admiringly, tilting the pad towards him for a better look, "That is not just doodling."

It's a sketch of him lying asleep, one hand across his chest, the other above his head. His face is turned towards her, eyes closed, hair spiked and sticking up in all directions. He fights the urge to reach up, smooth it down and she takes advantage of his indecision to tug the pad back towards her. 

"It's nothing," she tries but he's not having that. 

"Deb, that's fantastic," he says. "I thought you didn't draw any more?" She turns her head sharply, narrows her eyes and he elaborates with, "Dutchess County, talking to Emma Hill. You said you drew when you were younger but you gave it up."

She lays the pencil down very carefully on the pad. "You remember that?" she asks and he finds himself hoping she's not going to call the agents in and demand they arrest him for... well, he's not sure what crime would cover it, but he's sure they'd think of something. 

"I thought it was just talk... a way to build a rapport," he shrugs. "Guess not."

She looks at him, then at the drawing, then straight ahead with a thousand yard stare and he gets the impression that she's not seeing what he's seeing. "It was true," she says eventually and the moment he says the next words, he wants to bite his tongue off. 

"And the stuff about your mom? Was that true too?"

Her head snaps around towards him and he swears she's paler now than she was in the forest. "Mike..." 

It's either a plea or a warning, he's not sure which, but he continues anyway, can't stop the words tumbling from his lips. "You said she did a number on you... That your family's not close..."

Her head moves from side to side and she draws her knees up to her chin, wraps her arms around them. "Mike, please..."

He lets out a deep breath, puts his arms around her because her ragged whisper is more than he can stand. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have pushed."

Her hands clutch at his arms, fingernails scratching his skin. "I want to tell you," he hears her whisper and he tightens his hold on her because for now, that's enough. 

"Ssssh," he whispers, pulls her down so they're lying on the bed, her in his arms, pad and pencil forgotten. "We have time, Deb... all the time in the world."

She's quiet when the agents knock at the door to hand in their breakfast, doesn't say a word as they eat. Afterwards, she disappears into the bathroom to shower leaving Mike to dress, mentally kicking himself the whole time. She hasn't been finished long when there's a knock on the door, the doctor again. He examines Debra first and just like the last time, Mike turns around, looks it the window and listens to every word. 

He's surprised when he hears the doctor say, "Now you, Agent Weston."

"Excuse me?" He turns, confused and the doctor nods. 

"I've been briefed that you have stitches in your side... I need to check the dressing, see how the wound is healing."

Which makes sense, now he thinks about it. He'd checked himself out of hospital against medical advice to join the team at the armoury and with all that had happened since, getting checked out hadn't exactly been his priority. Sitting down on the bed, he catches Debra's eye as she stands against the desk. "No peeking," he quips but she doesn't smile. Nor does she look away as he unbuttons his shirt, despite his words, and when the doctor cuts off his bandages, carefully peels the dressing from the wound, Debra's eyes don't move. Mike keeps his eyes on her, doesn't look at what the doctor is doing and he tries to work out what she's thinking but can't. 

"That's healing nicely," the doctor pronounces as he puts on a fresh dressing, bandages him back up again. "I'll check again later in the week."

With that, he's gone and Mike pulls back on his shirt. He's just starting to do up the buttons when Debra sits down beside him, covers his hands with her own. He takes the hint, lets them drop and she pushes his shirt aside, her hand resting gently on the dressing of his wound. Her face is drawn into a frown, worried, and when she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. "It's worse..." She stops, swallows. "I knew it was bad... Of course it was bad, but..."

He closes his hand over hers. "But it's different when you see it," he finishes and all she can do is nod. 

"If we'd been a few minutes later..."

"Don't." His voice is firm. He had a few days to think like that in the hospital, and over the last few days, he's thought like that about her and the woods. "We made it, Deb. No matter what Joe had planned, no matter what he had in his book... we made it."

She moves her hand then, closes his shirt and clumsily does up the buttons. When she's finished, she takes a deep breath. "I ran away from home when I was fourteen... in the middle of the night, nothing but the night clothes I was wearing," she tells him. "That's when I stopped drawing. I went to live with my uncle's family... and it was another fifteen years before I saw my parents." A pause as she plays with one of the buttons of his shirt. "It didn't go well."

His head spins with the knowledge and he doesn't speak for a long moment, realising what it's cost her to even share that much with him. Furthermore, there are only a small handful of reasons he can think of that would cause someone to run away from their family in the middle of the night, especially someone like Debra, who spent what she thought would be her last moments on earth sending a message of love to the people she wasn't close to, the people he now knows she hasn't lived with in nearly twenty five years. He remembers her comment in the hospital, about being afraid of the big bad wolf and his stomach churns because of all the reasons he can think of for her to have done what she did, none of them are good, none of them he wants to apply to Debra and he can't stand to think of what she must have gone through. 

Closing his hands over hers, he brings her knuckles to his lips. "It's their loss," he tells her and he means it.

"I still miss them," she tells him quietly. "Even after everything. When I was..." She stops talking, her voice choked and she doesn't need to finish, because he was there, had heard what she said. 

"Maybe when all this is finished... you can go back. See them." She shakes her head but he keeps going. "Ten years... the last few weeks... it might have changed things."

Her smile trembles as her hand touches his cheek. "I'm honestly more afraid it hasn't," she tells him and his heart hurts at the words, at the look in her eyes. All he can think of to do is hold her, and that's just what he does. 

*

Later she ends up dozing against his shoulder and he lies on his back, trying not to think about what she told him. She wakes when the agents knock the door to bring them dinner and just like their first meal here, they end up sitting on the bed, talking quietly.

"OK, I now officially agree with you," Mike decides. "Cabin fever is starting to set in." Debra grins at him and he tilts his head, looks at her curiously. "So, what's on your list? What do you want to do when all this is over?"

Debra chews a mouthful of her chicken while she thinks it over. "Just going for a walk sounds pretty good right now," she finally says. "Feeling fresh air on my face." If he'd been through what she's been through, he'd be thinking along the same lines, so he nods. "Maybe take a trip," she continues. "See the ocean... I always thought there was something amazing about that... too many Iowa summers, I guess."

"My parents have a beach house in San Diego," he tells her. "We could go there sometime." He's suddenly aware that he's making plans for them, tries to inject some humour into the situation. "You could wear a bikini... I'll promise not to leer and you can get all huffy when you catch me..."

She's grinning at him, curls swaying from side to side as she shakes her head. "You do that," she tells him and his confusion must show on his face because she continues, "Any time you say something that hints there's going to be an us after all this... you're serious, then you crack a joke." He looks down and then he feels her hand on his knee. "You don't need to make a joke... I want there to be an us, Mike... more than I've wanted anything." Her cheeks flush crimson. "Guess that's another item for my list."

"I want to take you out on a real date," Mike says on impulse and her grin is ear to ear. "The whole sappy, clichéd deal... pick you up with flowers, you in some gorgeous dress, me in a suit... dinner some place, maybe even dancing..." He can see it in his mind's eye and he's not the least bit embarrassed. 

"I'm a terrible dancer," she says and he shrugs. 

"Great, so am I. We can compare bruises afterwards." She laughs out loud at that and he thinks that he could get used to that sound. 

She's in the shower later on when he has an idea, sets to work and when she emerges from the bathroom, she stops dead, hand going over her mouth in shock. He's turned most of the lights off, so the room is lit by only one bedside lamp and the television screen. On that, he's found, by some miracle, a channel playing non-stop eighties power ballads. It's not really his type of music, but it'll do the job for now and while she's still standing there staring at him, he approaches her, holds out one hand. 

"May I have this dance?" is all he says and she laughs softly, offers him her hand and lets him pull her into the centre of the room. Their joined hands he rests on his chest, over his heart, while his other hand slides around her waist to the small of her back. Her other hand rests high on his back, in between his shoulder blades and they sway together to the music, grinning into one another's eyes. 

"You are such a romantic," she teases him and he shrugs. 

"Guilty," he says. "And you deserve romance... even if it's not exactly what I'd pictured."

She glances down at what she's wearing, her regular bedclothes, then back at him, still in jeans and a shirt - he'd have put on a tie, just for effect, if he'd had one with him but he hadn't exactly needed one when he'd been packing his bag to go catch Joe Carroll. "Not exactly dressed to kill," she agrees and he shakes his head. 

"You look beautiful," he tells her. "Always."

Her cheeks darken as she looks up at him, her hand sliding up to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. He didn't think she knew what that did to him but when an involuntary shiver runs the length of his body and her lips curl up in a slow smile, he knows she does. "You're not so bad yourself," she tells him and then her lips are on his and dancing is forgotten. 

He doesn't know how long they just stand there kissing before she pulls back, takes a small step backwards, then another, taking him with her as she makes her way to the bed. When her knees make contact with the mattress, she kisses him again and he wraps his arms around her, lowers them both to the bed. Both her hands are on the back of his head, playing with his hair and yeah, she definitely knows how it affects him because when he pulls back from her lips so that he can kiss his way down her neck, the smile that he catches a glimpse of is positively wicked. 

He does get some measure of revenge though, because it turns out her neck is something of a weak spot for Debra. She shivers as he kisses it, fingers tightening in his hair and when he gets to the point where neck meets shoulder, when he nips it gently with his teeth, she gasps and actually arches up off the bed. 

He grins against her skin, repeats the move for good measure and the words that she utters are barely intelligible. Her fingers reach between them, finding his shirt buttons and undoing them quickly, her hands pushing the shirt from his shoulders and arms before tracing patterns over his skin as she pulls him closer to her again. Pushing himself away from her just enough so he can work a hand between them but not enough to break contact, his hand moves up her waist slowly, makes contact with her breast, stills for a moment, just in case. When her breath leaves her in a little sigh, when he can feel her lips curling underneath his, he takes it as a sign that she doesn't want him to stop, so he very carefully, very gently, sweeps a thumb over the nipple. 

She moans into his mouth and when he repeats the movement, her head falls back, eyes closed, and she arches against him again. Acting purely on instinct, he reaches down to the hem of her top, pulls it up and off and he meets no resistance; if anything, she's eager to help. He throws the top to the ground and takes a second to look at her, burning the image into his memory before he lowers his head to one breast and he's never heard anyone make a sound like the one she makes then. His other hand isn't idle, tracing patterns on her skin, along her other breast and before long, she is writhing against him, fingers scoring marks into his skin. 

He kisses her and touches her until she pushes him away and he blinks down at her, wondering if she wants to stop. He gets his answer when she reaches between them, shaking fingers going to the belt of his jeans. "Deb..." he begins because if she goes there, he knows he'll find it hard to stop. He's about to tell her that but the look in her eyes, on her face, stops him. 

"If you ask me if I'm sure, or if I want to wait," she tells him firmly, "Then you'd better yell for those agents outside, because I'll kill you myself." He chuckles, leans down and presses his lips to hers briefly. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he says as he helps her undo his jeans, takes care of her pyjama bottoms right after. He leaves her only long enough to extract a condom from his wallet and then he is beside her again, pulling her close to him and kissing her, hands roaming all over her back and legs and she's muttering him name in a tone that's half impatience and half frustration. 

And then he is inside her and she is gripping his arms, his name now a gasp from her lips. Her name is a moan from his and when he begins to move, it feels better than he ever dreamed. 

Later - much later - he lies on his back, Debra's head nestled on his chest. His fingers run through her hair absently and he looks down at her when he feels her lips turning up in a smile. When her eyes meet his, her smile grows wider and he tickles her side gently when he says, "Amusement isn't exactly what I was expecting."

Debra's answering chuckle is low and throaty. "Just thinking of how we could have been spending the last few days if you hadn't been such a gentleman."

Mike grins, gets some measure of revenge by tickling her a bit more actively. She bites back a yelp, twists to get away from him and he gives chase, pressing a kiss to her shoulder and down her arm as his hands slow their movement, tickles changing to caresses. 

It turns out the second time is even better than the first and if this is the result of being a gentleman, then Mike doesn't regret it at all. 

*

She falls asleep first, head nestled against his chest and when he's woken in the middle of the night by her moving restlessly, he's actually expecting it. It doesn't take him long, however, to realise that there's something different about tonight's dream. Tears leak from between her closed eyes and while the words "No, please don't," and other like them escape her lips, two names do too - "Mom" and "Dale."

He switches on the light, props himself up on one arm and looks down at her, is just about to wake her when her head turns and the light penetrates her slumber. Her eyes open slowly, she blinks a couple of time, then she is looking right at him, looking into his eyes. 

The look of fear, of panic, that he sees there makes his heart ache. 

Then she is gone, the bathroom door slamming shut behind her, the unmistakeable noise of someone being violently ill just about audible. 

He frowns in concern but doesn't follow her in - he's not quite sure of the etiquette in this situation but he's got a hunch Debra wouldn't thank him for it. He sits up in bed, waits for her to come out, counts the minutes until he hears the toilet flush, hears the taps running. When she emerges, he can see that she is shaking, from sickness or cold he's not quite sure and when her rubbery legs deposit her on the bed, he moves quickly, picks his discarded shirt up from the floor, drapes it over her shoulders. When he feels how cold her skin is though, he helps her into it before climbing back under the covers. She stays where she is, sitting on top of them, fingers digging into the bedclothes, knuckles white. Her face is equally pale, eyes rimmed in red and he can see from the tremble of her jaw that she's trying very hard not to cry. 

He wants to touch her but is afraid to, settles for a ghost of a touch along her spine. He's afraid she'll react badly but she doesn't flinch, just keeps staring down at the ground. There's no point asking if she's ok, not when she patently isn't, so he settles for a request. "Tell me what I can do."

She looks across at him then, her lips trying to curl up in something that might be a smile. "I wish I could," she whispers, wrapping her arms around her middle, holding herself tightly. He carefully scoots closer to the edge of the bed so that he's level with her and he's just as careful not to touch her. 

"If you need to be alone," he begins, "I can ask-"

"No." Her head snaps around, eyes wide. He blinks, slightly taken aback and she takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly with her eyes closed. She swallows. "No," she says again, quieter, calmer. "I don't want to be alone."

He nods, reaches out very slowly and very carefully, lifting up the covers. "Then come back to bed before you freeze," he says gently. 

There's the tiniest hint of a smile on her face as she accepts the invitation. He moves to his side of the bed, lies on his back as close to the edge as he can. She copies his pose but then he hears her take a deep breath and when he glances over at her, her jaw is set, determined. Slowly, she rolls over onto her side, facing him and she moves closer so that her head is resting on his shoulder, one arm over his chest. He can feel the tension radiating through her body and he lays his hand over hers. "You don't have to-" he begins, stopping when she presses a kiss to his cheek. 

"I want to," is her reply and there's nothing he can say to that. 

All he can do is move so that he can put his arm around her, his hand reaching up to play with her hair, trace idle patterns along her back. He does that until the tension leaves her body, keeps doing it until she falls asleep. Only then does he let his eyes close, let himself drift off too. 

When he wakes up, sunlight is peeking through the blinds and he is lying on his side, spooned up against Debra. His arm is around her waist, hand resting just below her belly button. His fingers flex automatically against the warm skin they find there and he knows she's awake when she shifts slightly against him, pressing back into him. He smiles to himself, flattens his hand and slides it up a little higher, but not too high, just in case. He feels her take a deep breath, and she rolls over onto her back, eyes still closed but with a sleepy smile on her face. The smile stretches when his hand slides around to the small of her back, his fingers lingering there, pushing back the fabric of his shirt that she's still wearing. "My shirt looks good on you," he tells her quietly. "You should wear them all the time."

She gives a throaty chuckle. "That would be nice," she murmurs, one hand sliding up his arm to his shoulder. "Especially if it means we can stay like this." Her hand moves back down to his elbow and she squeezes it as she opens her eyes. "But we can't, can we?"

Her dark eyes are serious, too serious and Mike doesn't think he likes whatever thoughts may be going through her mind. Tilting his head, he meets her question with one of his own. 

"Why can't we?"

She takes a deep breath. "After last night, you have to ask?"

He runs a hand down her cheek. "I thought last night was pretty great," he tells her and when her eyes widen and her mouth opens, he doesn't let her get a word in. "So, you had a nightmare. We can deal with that; we've dealt with worse."

Debra presses her lips into a thin line, looks down and to the right before she speaks. "The woods..." A tremor runs the length of her body. "Strange as it may seem, that was not actually the most fucked up thing to happen to me in my life. I've been in and out of therapy, my track record with any kind of relationship is disastrous..."

"You've told me that," Mike tells her, cutting her off. "And I've told you, I'm not going anywhere. Not just because of the agents outside the door either." He jerks his head in their direction and he's gratified to see the edges of her lips lift. "Deb, after everything..." His fingertips trace her cheek as words temporarily fail him. "This is me," he tells her finally. "This is us. Whatever happened or didn't happen to you, I'm here. For the long haul. You can tell me, or not tell me, I don't care. Because Debra Parker is the most amazing woman I know, and nothing's going to change that."

Her eyes are bright by the time he's finished speaking but he means every word. "And if I have to tell you that every day for the next fifty years to get you to believe it?" he adds, "Then bring it on."

He can see her wavering, her eyes flickering all over his face like she wants to believe him but she's waiting for any flicker of doubt or weakness to show on his face. He holds her gaze steadily, doesn't blink, because he means what he's saying to her, has never meant anything more. Finally her lips curl up in a smile and he can feel her relax in his arms. "It's just... this all happened so quickly," she says. "You kissed me for the first time five days ago... now we're talking about the next fifty years. That doesn't happen."

"Nothing about us... nothing about the last few months is usual," he reminds her. Then he smiles, borrows a line from a television show that he know she'll never have watched, one that fits the circumstances exactly. "But Deb... it only has to happen once."

The smile that spreads across her face is slow, tender, and she reaches one hand up, slides it around the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss him. He kisses her back, slides his arms around her and pulls her close, loses himself in her, in them. 

Whatever happens next, he knows that they're in this together. And maybe, he thinks, in the end, that's all that matters. 

*

The rest of the day is spent quietly, curled up on the bed, mindless channel surfing and sharing kisses. They chat about what they see on the screen, memories it brings up for them, but they still avoid the news channels, afraid of what they might see. The agents bring them lunch, then dinner and it is after dinner that there is a knock at the door and Turner announces his presence. Mike's stomach clenches when he sees him there, all the more so when Turner pulls up a chair and sits down. Mike and Debra sit side by side on the bed, facing him, and without any conscious thought, Mike reaches out and takes Debra's suddenly freezing hand in his.

"Ryan's still in a coma," Turner begins and Mike lets out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. Beside him, he feels Debra's shoulder slump in relief. "We've rounded up a dozen or so more of Joe's followers, but some remain at large..."

"Emma Hill?" Mike guesses and Turner nods. 

"Jacob Wells too," he adds. "We assume they're together." He looks from Mike to Debra then back again. "The ones we have captured all say the same... they were waiting to be contacted by Joe after he executed his endgame. Now he's gone, they're adrift. No plans. No guidance from him."

Mike looks over at Debra, squeezes her hand. For all he'd said to her in the hospital, it had never left the back of his mind that Joe might have some sort of contingency plan in place. "That's good, right?" he asks. "I mean, we can get out of here?"

The lines on Turner's forehead deepen. "That's what I've been sent here to discuss with you. Obviously, with two of Joe's most trusted lieutenants on the loose, we can't be one hundred percent sure of your safety if you leave protective custody... but having you holed up here probably isn't viable long term either."

Mike glances over at Debra, and agrees with what he sees in her eyes - with the change in their relationship, it's fine at the moment. Another week of constant togetherness and not leaving the room and it could be another story entirely. 

"So what are our options?" 

It's Debra who asks and Turner looks at her. "Option one... you go back to your lives. Your apartments. Your jobs. Probably up the security on your places. Option two... Witness Protection. New identities, new location. No contact with your former life." He glances significantly at their joined hands. "I'm assuming you'd wish to be located together."

Debra bites her lip and Mike's head spins. "Can we think about it?" he hears Debra ask and Turner nods as he stands up and pushes the chair back where he found it. 

"Let me know your decision... and there's no deadline on this. Take as much time as you need to." He gives them each a firm nod before closing the door behind him. 

Mike stares at the closed door for what seems like a long time before he turns and sees Debra staring at him, all dark eyes and furrowed brow. "What are you thinking?" he asks and she shrugs in reply. 

"Witness protection... walking out on our lives..." She shakes her head. "I haven't seen my family in years..."

Mike thinks back to previous conversations. "But you don't want to close the door either."

"It's stupid, I know that..." Resting her elbows on her knees she runs her hands through her hair, the picture of frustration. Mike runs his hand along her back, up to her shoulder. 

"Deb, I get it," he says. "Two of my brothers, we've never gotten along. I told anyone who'd listen that I hated them both." He chuckles without humour. "The last couple months... I've revisited my definition of the word hate."

Debra leans into him, rests her head against his. "So witness protection is out."

It's the safer option, no doubt, but Mike can't bring himself to disagree. "Which leaves us with endless psych evals, physicals and probably testifying at committee hearings..." He lifts an eyebrow as Debra stares at him. "Maybe we should think again."

When Debra giggles - and he would never have associated that word with her but there's no other word for the noise she makes - Mike smiles too, until she begins to speak. "When I was in the woods," she says, "I remember thinking of all the things I wanted to do... all the things I would have done differently. I wanted my life back... and I still do. My life, not some alias."

Mike's fingers slide from her shoulder slowly down to the small of her back. "And is there room for me there?" he asks, keeping his voice light, as light as he can anyway. 

The smile Debra gives him is as slow as the slide of his fingers, as brilliant as sunshine. "Always," she says quietly. 

Mike smiles back. "Then let's go home."

Debra doesn't blink, doesn't break eye contact with him. "I already am," she tells him and he knows that it's true.


End file.
